The Meet A Mate Affair
by RoseLight
Summary: How do the men from UNCLE find True Love ? By Magic or Machine?


The Meet-a-Mate Affair

Prologue

Napoleon Solo scanned the UNCLE canteen for his partner. He discovered the Russian in animated conversation with a tall, slender lab coat. The length and angle of the man's nose, and his short quick nods of assent, reminded Solo of a woodpecker. The incorrigible smile tugged at Napoleon's lips,and he carried his coffee across the floor to the back table.

"Solo, section two" he announced and stuck out his hand.

"Stein, Research and Development," the scientist gave him a hearty shake.

"Kuryakin, dangerous when hungry," Illya growled.

Solo smiled and pulled out a chair. "So, gentlemen, what is the topic of the day?"

"We're discussing companionable compatibility."

"Dating, Napoleon," the blond translated unnecessarily.

"Need an introduction to the class of '66?" As CEA, Solo made it his duty to meet each new graduate of the UNCLE academy personally. Very personally.

"Actually, I was postulating that computers could be used to match up couples perfectly—take all the guess work and uncertainty and anxiety out of, well, coupling."

Solo considered the notion.

"Really, Stein, the world of computers is so vast and new, there are so many valuable services to which they can be applied," the Russian was rhapsodic," Information storage, translation, mathematics, geography, aeronautics, medicine- Surely we can leave the matchmaking to the yentas."

"Not so,"Stein interrupted. "The computer tests for all the variables, hence sets the perfect match. Happiness equals stability equals increase in productivity equals innovation equals-"

Solo leapt into the fray. "Yeah, but, Robo-Romance? What about Mystery, Discovery –and those other popular sciences, chemistry and biology?"

"-and secrecy and deception and disappointment?" Kuryakin added darkly. "I understand your aim, Stein, but really, aren't there more important priorities to develop first?"

"Not for me," Stein muttered inaudibly. He shuffled back to R & D.

"I understand that's how it's handled by certain governments..." Solo teased . "They take the best and the brightest and pair them up. Gotta admit, it's an efficient way to ensure that the next generation-"

Illya grunted and concentrated on his pork chop. That effectively ended the topic.

Solo grinned, knowing that his partner had barely escaped a Soviet-sponsored ceremony.

Enforcement agents were not bred to lead a contemplative life. Sans danger, there was likely to be mischief afoot.

The idea of a match-making computer continued to intrigue Solo. He goaded his science-trained partner to produce empirical evidence that the machine was incapable of matching suitable couples. Kuryakin continued to insist it was not the ability of the machines he doubted, but the priority. "Surely we need more important things to study than to come up with a date for Franklin Stein Saturday night."

But after nine deadly-dull days in the office, Illya was ready to agree to a silly little game. After all, there's only so much sanskrit one can read.

Stein borrowed a standard partnership test, mixed it with the latest Cosmo quiz, and gave it out through the Personnel department. Volunteers were solicited, but the true nature of the survey was kept confidential.

Match 1

Solo settled back into his comfortable chair at Le Petite Mouton and sipped at his Scotch. He did not mind having a little time to decompress from the work day before his Mystery Date arrived at the elegant restaurant. Apparently, "punctuality" did not rate highly on her test, either.

A lithe young woman with auburn hair swept up off her slender neck slid onto the chair beside him. Her sherry eyes sparkled. "Hey, Napoleon, What's up? I was told to report here..."

Solo's eyes widened and he stopped breathing. April. April Dancer. That cockamamie machine had selected April Dancer as his perfect match.

He nearly choked back his drink remembering their abortive first and last date.

_It had been a pleasant evening—a museum or a movie or something—And Solo, as a gentleman, had seen the new recruit to her door. They bid each other farewell and Solo inveigled himself in closer for a good-night (or possibly the preview to a "good morning") kiss. April froze and flattened herself against the door. _

"_Oh, NO Mr. Solo!" she gasped. She raised her arms protectively in front of herself. "Gosh! You're my boss. The gossip-! And Mr. Waverly is counting on me, as the first female enforcement agent. And, oh - My father the colonel! And I'm an example to all those other girls-" she babbled excuses until she feared the CEA would dismiss her from the program. _

"_All right, all right," he sighed, gracious in defeat. _

_April remained plastered against the wall. _

"_It's okay, April, it's okay," he continued to reassure her. "Agent Dancer!" Solo addressed her firmly, alighting his fingertips on her shoulders. April straightened, and hiccuped. "Thank you for a lovely evening." Napoleon kissed her stiff hand and whistled all the way home. _

Solo put his face in his hands. He was now facing a more skilled, spirited and sophisticated April Dancer. Breakage was a concern, although whether it might be the crockery or his nose, was yet to be determined.

"Oh, good grief," April groused after Solo confessed the true purpose behind the mysterious orders. She shook her head. "Honestly. What will you juvenile delinquents come up with next?"

"So you escaped injury," Kuryakin deduced, "except to your dignity, O-Mighty-CEA. Then what?" he pressed.

"We had dinner, and instead of talking about work, we talked about horses. Seems our little Miss April is quite the horsewoman. Grew up winning ribbons in dressage. She sure can talk about horses; and horses. And horses. Hands and flanks and -Who knew?" Solo shrugged.

"Hmmm...riding..." Illya thought aloud. "It's in my Cossack blood, of course. And it's been ages since I've—there's stables near the park that rent-"

"No thanks, Pal. My backside's been kicked around enough in this little experiment," Solo declined ruefully.

"Actually, Napoleon, it's not _your _backside I was thinking about."

Match 2

Illya Kuryakin had promised to be on his best behavior, so as not to skew the results. He held a single white carnation in his hand, and presented it to the lady who opened the door.

Annika Andersen was blonde and blue-eyed. For their casual first meeting, she wore slinky black slacks, and a clingy black knit turtleneck.

They both chuckled at the mirror-image effect. Illya escorted her to the curb and into a waiting taxi.

"There's a little coffee house I know-"

"Echo? I love it," she agreed heartily.

"I frequent it on those rare off-duty hours," he tried to continue.

They both ordered espresso with a side plate of handmade chocolates.

"I understand you are on loan from the Stockholm office," he remarked.

"Yes. My specialty is electronics. This is a lovely place," she granted, looking around. "Dark and soothing and quiet."

"For good coffee and good conversation," Illya agreed.

"I know exactly what you mean," Annika replied. And she did. Exactly.

Whether the topic was politics or music, weather or travel, books or cuisine, their opinions were completely and utterly twinned in perfect agreement. It was remarkable.

"The most godawful boring night of my entire life," Illya confessed to his friend. "I may need to reconsider my philosophy on the nature of agreeable relationships. And now I have to skulk around the corridors for three weeks until she returns to Stockholm."

"Not necessarily," Solo comforted. "After all, she's probably trying to avoid you, too."

It was the first cheerful thought the grim Russian had heard all day.

Solo snapped his fingers as if he'd had a major epiphany. "I hate to see you suffer, old chum. Tell you what: give me her number, and I'll make her forget your agreeable ass..."

Match 3

Stein's computer match was a Hildegarde Humperdink. Once again he grimaced at the very name, and steadied himself against looking into her personnel file. That would be cheating, he repeated to himself sternly. He was doing all this to prove his faith in the system. And with a name like Dr. Franklin Stein, the poor girl was probably wondering what she had volunteered for.

They made arrangements to meet in front of Del Floria's. Stein spotted a short round woman wearing a flouncy calico dress and an absurd summer hat decked in fruit and feathers. Oh Lord. Stein looked up and down the street but she was the only person standing there at the appointed time. He cleared his throat hesitantly. "Ah, Miss...? Are you...expecting someone...?"

"I'm Hildy." She had a firm handshake, and indeed, pulled Stein so close into her face he could count the soft brown freckles bridging her nose. He blinked. He could not remember having been this close to a woman's face before. It was as if they could exchange breath.

"Fr—Franklin," he responded firmly. Stein broke off the unsettling intimate gaze and pulled open the car door for her. For her and her enormous satchel. Hildy settled it at her feet.

"I'm at your mercy, Doctor," she waved gaily. "What's your plan?"

Stein had a bold inspiration. He recognized that he was a walking poster for Nerd-dom. The rumpled white lab coat, the thick glasses, the pen behind the ear. One black sock; one argyle. This was the way folks related to him, as a disembodied brain. But Franklin was more than that; couldn't anyone see _him_? Sometimes, he longed to escape the logic and the lab and just flee into the sunset. He was driving out of the city, and into the next county. By the time the odd couple reached Summerfield, they had learned significant things about each other.

Hildy had attended community college for nearly a decade. She was bright, but her interests diverged so often she just took the classes that interested her. One semester, karate and German. Next semester, European history and horticulture.

"I must sound like an educational flibbertigibbet to you," she chuckled. "You've got so much concentration and discipline in your studies and your work."

Franklin drew a deep breath and released it slowly, "Sounds like pure investigative studies to me. You are interested in so many things, one mere major cannot contain your intellectual curiosity."

Hildy clapped her hands. "That's it, exactly! I've never been able to explain it before, but when you say it, it sounds almost admirable." Then she sighed. "Now you're gonna ask me how come I'm just an office housekeeper."

"No 'just' about it. I've been the recipient of your hard work and care. I'm sorry I never let you know how much it means to me to start off a morning with a fresh, clean, tidy space. Makes my brain feel positively...polished."

Hildy was humbled. "I really appreciate that. Cleaning's like a calling for me. I have a real soul-sense of accomplishment after I've tidied a place up. I have a question."

Stein was not surprised. So far, they had spoken about "shoes and ships and sealing wax, and cabbages and kings." One could never take her conversation for granted; paying attention was mandatory to catch abrupt shifts in tense or topic. Stein intensified his attention.

"Yesss..."

"This survey I took. Did you take it too?"

"Uh, yes. I volunteered too."

"Who designed that thing? I mean, sometimes they didn't even have the right answers to choose from."

"Hmm. Can you give me an example?"

"Like the question, What is your ideal dinner: a sirloin at swanky country club; lobster at a rustic inn; or champagne at Maxim's in Paris."

"And what did you answer?"

Hildy shook her head. "The _right _answer is 'stale saltines with the right person."

Franklin was really glad he had stopped the vehicle. "Hop out," he invited. They were parked in the Summerfield fair grounds. "Where to first—goat pens, peanut brittle stand, merry-go-round...?"

Tunnel of Love?

Epilogue

Stein bounded into the break room, did a dramatic twirl with a coffee tray delicately balanced in one hand above his head, and set it down like an offering before Solo and Kuryakin. Then, with a twist of his wrist and a short tug on their tablecloth, he yanked the corner and-

The coffees remained undisturbed, and he brandished the white linen like a triumphant matador.

"Hildy taught me that," he said modestly. "She's amazing."

"Stein, where have you been? You know Waverly started the 36 hour clock on you?!" Solo warned the scientist. Glad to see him alive and ...well...kicking, Napoleon dialed his communicator and directed that the alarm be discontinued.

"Been on my honeymoon, Gents."

"Honeymoon?!" the agents chorused. "How-"

"We took a ride in a hot air balloon, but it kinda...sorta... got loose from its tether. We floated awhile, under the stars..." (If Kuryakin had not known the scientist, he would have described the man's voice as 'dreamy'). "The basket finally landed in a zucchini patch in Harmony, New Jersey. From there it was just obvious: Kismet." Stein shrugged. Perfectly obvious. His face glowed. "She's the most wonderful woman! There's no one else like her!"

Solo tried to be the voice of reason. "But Stein, you just met the girl. You had one date-"

"And we're gonna spend the rest of our lives getting to know each other. Fellas, she's wonderful. She thinks I'm wonderful. And everything is just soooo-"

"Wonderful..." the partners chorused again."We get it."

"I gotta get up to Personnel and change my tax exemption...and my life insurance...and my next-of-kin..." Kuryakin could swear he was staring at the stodgy, shy scientist doing a polka down the hall.

"Ahem," Solo said, watching the romantic whirlwind formerly solitary soldier wing his way to the elevator. "I believe this turn of events leaves us with an ethical dilemma."

"Indeed," the Russian agreed.

"Do we tell him about the defect you discovered in the selection cylinder?"

Kuryakin was uneasy. "Well...he does have the right to know. I suppose."

"Hmmm..."

"As a scientist, he needs correct data."

"Hmmm..."

"As a man..."

Illya and Napoleon shook hands solemnly. They each changed their answers to the final true-false question on the sexy survey:

"All you need is love."

a). True

b). False

c). Yeah...Yeah...Yeah...

finis


End file.
